


Tomorrow Never Comes

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, M/M, The Author Regrets Nothing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, fuck you texas, woe is me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 03:50:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19243252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: All it would take is a word. There’s distance between them now; it would be easier for Timmy to pull up a message and type, as he has a thousand times before. But he’d just erase it. Like the thousand times before.





	Tomorrow Never Comes

**Author's Note:**

> for the sad porn posse  
> xoxo

_ “Welcome to Los Angeles where the local time is 6:48 pm.” _

 

The pilot’s announcement jolts Timmy into consciousness. Back when Armie flew with him everywhere, their banter kept his mind occupied, let him forget how terrified he is to move 500 miles an hour, five miles high, in a tin can with wings. But these days it’s dramamine, Xanax, whatever will knock him out before the safety announcement’s even over. Timmy can’t remember the last flight he was awake for.

 

Good thing the meetings he’s supposedly here for aren’t till tomorrow. Normally he’d go back to his hotel and sleep it off. But of course as soon as Armie saw his Instagram story from the airport in New York the text had come in.

 

_ AH: Coming my way? _

 

Five times Timmy typed lies into the response box.

 

~~_ TC: Sort of, but won’t really be close by. _ ~~

~~_ TC: Yeah, but I’ve got meetings the whole time. Coffee in NYC next time you’re here tho? _ ~~

~~_ TC: Nah, going to France to see the fam. _ ~~

~~_ TC: I am. But please don’t ask me to hang out, it hurts too much and I’ve told you that and yet I can never say no. _ ~~

~~_ TC: Yeah, and if you asked I’d never leave. It’s why I keep coming back. Hoping to hear the one thing you’ll never say. _ ~~

 

_ TC: Yeah. I get in about 7 tonight. _

_ AH: Great. We’ll be at La Poubelle, pop over when you get here? _

 

_ TC: Sure thing. _

 

Timmy barely remembers his Lyft ride through the fading Dramamine haze. When the door swings closed behind him he spots Armie in a corner, holding court as always. Once there was a time when he’d make Armie’s night by walking through the door, when Armie could text him to come right over and it meant the rest of the party would fall away around them. They’d smoke indoors and half-dance, drunkenly, to terrible music. Any photo of one of them, squinted at properly, would reveal the other hovering almost out of frame, possessive, impatient.

 

Now Armie doesn’t even notice when Timmy arrives. He has to bump his way to the back of the restaurant, luggage smacking the backs of people’s chairs, and when he gets to the table there are no proper seats left. Nick looks at him with something annoyingly close to pity. Armie finally notices Timmy, throws him a bright fake smile that doesn’t reach the apologetic look in his eyes, pulls a chair over and wedges it between himself and Liz. “Here, here, Timmy, sit! God, thanks for coming! I’m so glad you’re here!” And then Timmy’s lost in Armie’s embrace, enfolded in those long limbs, head against Armie’s broad chest, so surrounded by Armie that the light around them is blotted out.

 

The trouble with these hugs, Timmy’s learned, is when they end you’re alone. And it’s still dark.

 

He folds himself into the chair, ruffles his hair, tries to  _ think _ his way into not smelling like a plane. Liz smiles at him brightly and asks about his flight. When he opens his mouth to answer, the weight of everything she doesn’t know presses his vocal cords closed and he gestures for water.

 

“Timmy, you’ve been back in New York for months now! What are you doing with yourself? Any lady friends caught your eye? You work so much, I always worry that you never seem to have anyone to relax with.” 

 

_ But I do _ , he wants to scream.  _ I had it for what felt like forever, any afternoon I wanted, for months on end, an endless stream of sunsets and skin and the salt of his sweat on my tongue. And then it shrank, it had to, we fit it into hotel rooms and alleys and cellphone photos with bad flash. And now it’s as big as my heart, as big as my fist and no bigger, and I think I’m the only one still hanging on. _

 

Liz is staring at him, inclining her head toward his phone. “C’mon, let me take a look at some girls for you! Maybe I could give you a new perspective. You’ve gotta have Tinder on that thing, right?”

 

Timmy offers a silent prayer of thanks that he has hidden Grindr away in a folder with his financial apps. “Sorry, Liz, no dating apps here.” He waves his homescreen in her face. Armie turns at the sound of their conversation and for a moment the blood drains from his face and leaves him looking as alone as Timmy feels. He covers it by reaching for a drink, and by the time he’s set it down again Armie seems just as much himself as ever. Or, as he ever does to people who don’t know what it looks like behind his mask.

 

A moment later Armie reaches for a piece of bread, knocking over Liz’s wine in the process. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry, hon,” he stutters, wiping up the wine with extra napkins. “I must have had more to drink than I thought. What do you say we call it a night, huh?” His leg presses against Timmy’s as he speaks, and Timmy hates the warmth that spreads through his whole body at the contact. Yet it’s all he can do to keep from whimpering at the sensation.

 

Nick gets up from the table first. “Hey, Armie, you wanna ride home with me first and grab the clothes you left there last time we were at the gym? I’m sick of you using that as an excuse not to work out with us.” Nick waits until Liz ducks to grab her handbag from the floor and then throws Timmy a wink.

 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Armie murmurs, slurring a few of his consonants. On the sidewalk outside he puts Liz into a Lyft and kisses the top of her head. The valet brings Nick’s car and as soon as Armie climbs into the backseat with Timmy his drunkenness evaporates.

 

“God, I missed you so much. Thank you for coming, you must be exhausted.” Armie pulls Timmy’s head onto his shoulder, buries his nose in Timmy’s curls. For most of the ride to Nick’s Armie plays absentmindedly with Timmy’s fingers, running his thumb over Timmy’s fingernails and sprinkling kisses idly on his knuckles. 

 

Nick pulls up in front of his own apartment and unlocks the rear doors. “Don’t worry, lovebirds, I’ll be at Ashton’s tonight. Just try not to break anything, OK?” He pulls a single key from his ring and hands it to Armie. When Timmy goes to thank Nick his voice suddenly feels like it might break, so he settles for a fist bump and a couple of rough pats on Nick’s shoulder.

 

Once inside Timmy barely has time to drop his bags before Armie’s pressing him against the door in a deep kiss, hands roaming to Timmy’s hips and holding him against the doorframe. Armie’s sharp clean smell and insistent tongue overwhelm Timmy at first and he sinks into it, surrendering for a moment before he remembers how hard it is to get to the surface again when he lets Armie have his way. Armie’s just so  _ much _ , his emotions and affection at the same scale as the rest of him.  _ And once I thought I could be enough for him, just me, all he’d need. _ At the thought, Timmy huffs involuntarily. Armie notices and pulls away, tipping Timmy’s chin up with his hand.

 

“Hey, Timmy, hey. I’m sorry. Was that too fast? God, you’re probably exhausted. Here, come here.” Armie leads them through Nick’s apartment to the bedroom. “Here, I’ll put your bags away. Do you want a shower? Don’t say no, I know you love them. We’ll do it your way tonight, OK? As a thanks for coming all this way when you probably just want to sleep.”

 

_ No, I don’t want to sleep. I’d just dream of you, and you won’t be there when I wake up. _

 

“I’ll take a shower in the morning, Armie, it’s fine. For now I just wanna relax, OK?”

 

“Sure, sure.” Timmy flops on his back on Nick’s gigantic bed, already toeing his socks off. He closes his eyes, pats the space beside him, smiles a little as he feels the bed dip under Armie’s weight. “I know what you like,” Armie murmurs, and begins rubbing at Timmy’s feet. He slides slowly up Timmy’s body and fumbles at Timmy’s waist and then his own, grabbing at their shirts, until they’re both in boxers side by side on Nick’s bed.

 

Armie grabs Timmy’s hand, traces it over his own sternum and chest. “You like this, right? I remember the first day we met in Crema you gave me the best hug I’d ever had. Running your hands all over my back. And tickling me on the bed in Bergamo. You always do like to...use your hands.” Armie slides Timmy’s palm lower, flat against his stomach, until his fingers rest in the waistband of Armie’s boxers. They breathe into the silence for a few minutes before Armie slowly rolls himself atop Timmy again, starting to pepper kisses along his collarbone while one hand reaches between Timmy’s legs, lazily stroking his awakening cock.

 

Timmy closes his eyes, trails his fingers along Armie’s bicep, gasps when he feels the warm heat of Armie’s mouth and his cock throbbing against Armie’s tongue.  _ But you only have half the story, Armie. Yes, I like to touch you, because every time I’m afraid it’s the last and I’ve got to memorize you while I still can. You know I like to keep my eyes closed but that’s so I don’t have to look at the hotel nightstands, Nick’s bedroom, wherever we are that isn’t  _ **_ours_ ** _. _

 

Armie’s mouth starts to work faster, his hands playing along Timmy’s thighs, between his legs, teasing his entrance with a finger but going no further. Timmy fists his hands into Armie’s hair, and when Armie’s hand starts to chase his mouth along Timmy’s cock, twisting and squeezing, Timmy bucks up into Armie’s mouth and comes with a string of muttered French.

 

_ You don’t know that I speak French when I come to keep myself from saying “I love you”. _

 

“Fuck,” Timmy mutters, lightheaded from his orgasm and feeling almost silly.

 

“God, that was hot.” Armie tousles Timmy’s hair. “You’ve--you’ve gotta be so tired. I’m gonna...take care of myself in Nick’s bathroom. I’ve--” Armie shoots an apologetic glance at the bedside clock, “I’ve gotta be home soon.”

 

Timmy snuggles under Nick’s blankets, drifts in and out of sleep to the sounds of water running in Nick’s bathroom. Armie comes in a few minutes later, plants a kiss on the top of Timmy’s head. “Hey, babe, I’ve gotta get back. Liz is gonna wonder, you know how it is.”   
  


“Hey, Armie?” Timmy sits up, his questioning tone stopping Armie in the doorway. He turns back, fixes Timmy with an expectant but empty smile.

 

_ You felt it, right? I’m not crazy, I’m not making this up? _

 

_ How did you put it aside? How do you live without missing it, every single day? _

 

_ Do you pretend she’s me? Would you ever tell her? Because I’ve pretended half of New York City is you, and let me tell you, it isn’t working so well. _

 

_ How can this be too much and never enough, at the same time? _

 

“Do you ever want more? Than…” Timmy gestures to the rumpled sheets, the piled-up clothing. “More than this?”

 

A shadow crosses Armie’s face. “Someday. Maybe.” The shadow melts into a smile. It’s the saddest thing in all of Los Angeles. “In another life.”

He crosses to the bed again, crushes Timmy in a hug, then strides out of the room quickly. Timmy hears what sounds like sniffling from the hallway, then the front door bangs closed and Armie’s gone. He settles in under Nick’s duvet but sleep doesn’t come. He’s pulled up some mindless phone game when a notification drops onto his screen. From Armie. A photo message followed by a winking emoji. It’s their code. Armie will have gone home, found Liz and the kids in bed, and snapped a photo. Maybe this time it’ll be his hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing a pearl of precome toward the lens. Maybe he’ll be fingering himself in the guest room, eyes closed with ecstasy at the edge of the frame. Once it was a video of Armie jacking off before the open window of a penthouse hotel suite, shouting Timmy’s name as he came.

 

All it would take is a word. There’s distance between them now; it would be easier for Timmy to pull up a message and type, as he has a thousand times before:

 

_ We can’t do this anymore. _

 

_ I don’t even know if you’re hurting me or I’m hurting me, but I hurt and it has to stop. _

 

_ Let’s just keep the memories. The best parts of both of us live there anyway. _

 

But he’d just erase it. Like the thousand times before.

 

So he opens the message, sends back a winking emoji without even looking at the picture, and rolls over to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> dreamofhorses42 on Tumblr.


End file.
